


Anarki

by HereforThis



Series: Anarki [1]
Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: First Meetings, I have had this too long so it's a few disconnected parts, M/M, darkiplier is the 3D dork we know and love not the Actor, demonic introductions, even though the Actor is technically the canon Darkiplier, fight me, guys you see this rating and ship demons what are you expecting, this is the closest I get to shipping real people but man do I ship this hard, this would be part one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 11:14:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20435066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HereforThis/pseuds/HereforThis
Summary: Dark and Anti are two powers that are sure to clash. That is, if they survive their first meeting. But in the lust for power and control amidst the desperate hosts begging for peace, will their resolve remain steady?





	1. Source

**Author's Note:**

> I always love fics that try a little too hard, so I made one. A fair warning that I favor soft ship things. This ship’s fandom is incredible, with music and fics and callouts, so I’ve included nods to those that inspired me. I don’t think anyone really knows what’s canon anymore for these demons (Apparently “Darkiplier” is the “Actor” and not “Damien” but I do not adhere to that at all, fight me).

The very nature of being demonic changed over centuries to adapt. While those of old wove shadows and took on animal forms to terrorize humankind in their dismal forests or claustrophobic caves, humans soon learned to wield fire and cut down the woods. Throughout history, demons had been born of fire, shadow, storms, vengeful spirits, superstitions, any fear the humans cowered from in the night. And then, as time went on and plunged towards the inevitable, humankind’s own minds became that which they feared the most. Asylums stuffed with outcasts remain the most haunted places in modern times for good reason. Yet that fad passed as well. The mind became the tool which channeled the heart, a constant source of rich agony and determination. And it was these sharpened broken hearts that drew the ancient darknesses to new forms. 

Out of that channel, one such demon created for themselves a new form. Manipulating power, jealousy, rage - all these things this demon took easily in stride. There was no proper name in this world that could translate their title, as the void was simply that - a void, where shapeless things writhed and fought for individuality. How does one identify a slew of emotions, a depth with no visible end? So the souls they took assigned them one. Dark. 

But the world was not ending. Time marched on. Dark was one of many demons who roamed the earth, though fairly unmatched in power. Where some kept humans up at night, creating paranoia, inducing panics, inflicting terror by draining hope or shifting forms, Dark held desires. The longings deep within a person’s heart. The cravings people could not admit to themselves. He could decipher them, draw them out, lay them bare, turn them against their owners, anything he so wished. He held his own under lock and key, and what could he desire? He, an ancient power finally given form, having taken shape through not three but four broken hearted souls whose desires he had killed long ago? What he wanted, he took, and it came easily to him. Nothing was beyond his reach. 

Except that the world was not ending and time continued on. Humans forgot the past. The viscous taste of revenge became a media formula. Broken hearts could be fixed by downloading an app on a phone. Toxic relations were called out with support sites and PSA posts. Lesser demons began to die off. Dark could keep up with the changes, as powerful as he was, but fewer could adapt. While he remained tied to the world by the host spirits, adding a living human as an occasional retreat, others fell back to the elements. Dark did not care. They were weak demons, unable to see how many new hiding places there were. He was content to be on top. But there were rumors. Another large power had found form in the new age, one that could prove his rival. A glitch.


	2. Rumor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapters are always 3rd person narrator, centered around one character's viewpoint. Finally, to our boys.

Mark was sickening to behold, or at least, sickening for Dark to behold. The man made his living off making people laugh and feel good. He held charity livestreams once a month where he would do ridiculous things - embarrassing and even painful challenges - so that others without his privileges could have better lives. His life centered around relationships. He had unending gratitude for those who watched his videos, his friends, his family, his girlfriend, his dog - honestly, the man was so large in his presence that it was suffocating to live with. If Dark had been able to choose anyone else to be tied to, he would have. But this human had chosen Dark back. Of course, he’d done that because he was horribly philanthropic and wanted to spare anyone else of the burden, foolishly thinking he could somehow expel Dark’s...well, dark, with his own abundant light. 

Humans had the strangest ideas. 

Instead, the arrangement held up the boy’s illusion to benefit the demon. From his overflowing essence, Dark borrowed energy from time to time. In the rare occasions he overextended himself, he retreated and recovered within the back of Mark’s mind. When the veil between their personas was thin enough, he could take over completely. He toyed with Mark’s insecurities and fears during downtime. And other than Mark’s irrational fear of mannequins (which Dark found distasteful anyways), his greatest fear was a social manipulator. In return, Mark felt as if he was saving the world from Dark, as if he could control some of the evil and divert it away from the innocents. It was adorable, albeit irritating to bend once in a while to the boy’s direction. And rather annoying when Mark’s egos entered the scene to propose their own ideas about where this dimension should be going. 

The only ego Dark ever half listened to was a boisterous lunatic in bright yellow called Wilford Warfstache. The pair were the last ones remaining after a meeting one day. Dark liked waiting until everyone else was gone for one moment’s peace, and Wilford typically led the stupid thing, leading to more conversations between the two. Not to mention Dark had inadvertently  _ caused  _ Wilford to go mad in the first place by inhabiting his lover, victim, and best friend simultaneously, but only a minuscule percentage of him cared about that anymore.

It’s after another pointless meeting he remembers why he bothers to show up. “ _ Sooo,  _ Darkiplier,” causes him to eye the lunatic. “ _ Whaat _ ever is  _ happening  _ in the ‘demon dimension’ anyways?” 

If he didn’t respect the idiot for still being alive after losing his mentality, the drawled voice would’ve driven him to murder a long time ago. And the addition of Mark’s suffix Iplier. And the absurdity of the question. 

“I don’t see how that concerns you.” 

Wilford just laughs and stretches his suspenders with his thumbs. “Well  _ I  _ heard you’re going to have your  _ hands  _ full with the  _ new  _ power over in Europe.”

Dark doesn’t react. “Rarely do I ever have that problem, Wil.” In truth, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Google probably gave Wilford the idea in the first place, trying to figure out demons like algorithms. Warning sign plus incident equals demon or some shit. He avoids Google precisely so Google cannot gather data on him. 

“Yes, indeed,” Wilford muses, running his thumbs up and down, up and down. “But  _ rarely  _ do we get other large  _ demons  _ on our doorstep.”

This is infuriatingly relevant. Dark can inquire among the lesser demons in the area, taking up effort. He can ask Mark, though the boy most likely hadn’t knowingly invited another demon to his door. Or he can admit that he didn’t know about this and get his answer from a smug maniac right now. 

“Why should I care?”

“You rascal! I have  _ good  _ money on you taking this  _ new  _ guy back to wherever the hell you  _ came  _ from. And  _ everyone’s  _ been talking about whether you’ll have to take  _ control  _ or not, since  _ Mark  _ certainly wouldn’t let you anywhere  _ near  _ his good friend, no matter  _ what  _ he brings with him.” 

Another demon tied itself to a living host. Not uncommon, but unfortunate for the bastard coming to his territory. And to say that the egos are debating his authority is enraging. He can take control whenever he wants to. No new demon poses a threat. It’s been too long since he’s drawn blood with Mark’s hands. Perhaps this could be a reminder to the egos that Dark is more than a facet of Mark’s dimensions. 

One of Mark’s good European friends is coming to visit, delivering a freshly imported lesson. All he has to do is wait. 


	3. Thought

In the week leading up to the visit, Dark keeps close to Mark. In the early days, they didn’t know each others boundaries, and Mark would black out if Dark pressed too close. They drove each other insane and Mark would often dramatize the event for later video use. Now it was like walking with a shadow. A shadow that spoke in his mind. 

_ -Tyler has the thing, the thing-that-I-can’t-remember, but he wrote it down somewhere and I can ask him later about it then after-OH SHIT THE VIDEOS right well Kathryn’s got yesterday’s footage- _

** _Mark. _ **

The stream of consciousness veers off into more word association, this time with the demon.  _ What are you doing here?  _

** _It’s alright, Mark. I’m merely checking in. _ **

_ Fucking-can you not freak me out like that? I’ve got shit to do.  _

** _I can see that. _ **

_ Then-?  _ When he receives no response, he begins a hesitant stream again. And there he reveals his fear.  _ Fuck, what is he doing here, he shouldn’t be here. He only shows up when he wants something. What if he shows up when Jack gets here? I’ve told everyone he doesn’t even exist, what if he tries something? He hasn’t before. Maybe he shouldn’t stay here, is it too late to book a hotel? _

Dark releases the pressure, still listening to the rambling thoughts while keeping his own quiet. So Jack has a demon. Celebrities cull the masses, making for ideal targets. It’s no wonder this would happen. The boy had made his own egos, of course, so why shouldn’t someone else in the world have to deal with the same shit Dark does? For once, he doesn’t mind the loss of uniqueness. Someone else has to deal with a YouTuber and their egos and the insufferable goodness these humans effuse. Hell does extend beyond this little corner. 

Mark had watched Jack’s demonic videos, meaning somewhere in memory, Dark has too. Perhaps Sean did the same as Mark and used personal experience for the scares.  _ If that’s true, then I do know something about this new demon.  _ Dark slips further into the subconscious, scanning through countless memories of the Irishman. Tours, collabs, panels, and...ugh, Prop Hunt. This host was not mature in the slightest when it came to Prop Hunt. Or most things. He continues his search.  _ Void below, does he ever stop making dick jokes? And the other one, how does anyone stand his voice for so long?  _

He skips over it at first, still rolling his eyes at a particularly bad joke. Then something glints, halting him in his tracks. There, in one of the collaboration videos, towards the end. Jack’s frustrated with something stupid Mark did (as usual, but too much his friend to say anything about it) and his eyes are slightly wrong. They shine from behind, not from his desk lights. He can tell the difference because the light is green. Insubstantial information, but confirming his logic; Jack is bringing something with him. So what does the blue-eyed boy call his demon? 

He narrows his criteria, searching for the time when the veil is the thinnest: Halloween. Within seconds a video pops up, but Mark wasn’t entirely focused on it, forcing Dark to watch without the audio in fits and starts. No name, but there’s a flicker. A knife. The telltale glitches of demonic presence amplified to the tenth degree. And the green hues that take over the boy’s features, sharpening them, glazing his eyes as the knife slices his throat open.  _ There.  _

Dark memorizes the leer in an instant, analyzing his hold on the knife, the expression on his face. He glitches too much to be experienced out in the world (Dark only glitches when especially unhinged) and clearly takes pleasure from physical torture as opposed to mental. Black eyes overtake the blue, how common. Interrupting Jack’s portrayal by actually showing up.  _ Attention whore.  _ Wiry, incorporeal, unpredictable. So very new. 

Dark glances at Mark’s conscious, now distracted by Amy and Chica. He may spend a thought or two more on Dark and Jack if he’s reminded of the potential problem, but nothing will change if he slips away now. And that’s what he does. 

_ Come along, little glitch. See what happens when you irritate something that knife won’t kill.  _


	4. Hello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tad longer chapter. Here comes our glitchy boi.

As predicted, nothing changes between Dark’s check-in and the visit. Mark and Amy drive to the airport, oblivious and trading horrible karaoke. The egos went on hiatus, Wilford parting with waggling brows and a cheeky reminder of the bet he has going. Google peered at him over Bim’s shoulder, but left without a word. Insignificant creatures. They would soon learn their places. 

After several boring hours of waiting, Jack’s flight lands. Mark and Amy seamlessly welcome him to the states as if he is finally home. The whole scene makes Dark want to spill blood just so he can have something less nauseating to observe. The trio could star in some wholesome coming-of-age movie if they wanted to. Amy gives Sean a hug, standing on her toes to reach the way she never has to with Mark. Dark watches through his host’s eyes, drinking in the excitement and contentment. The foreigner is as he’s always been; lanky, fuzzy around the edges, constantly moving around or smiling. He toured the past month and was happy to spend downtime with his friends before they went on tour again. Soft, fleshy human. 

Dark pays special attention to his demeanor. Jack was always the energetic type - most top YouTubers have to be in order to sustain their career. No movement appears to be directed by something else. Then again, Dark doesn’t control everything Mark ever does. The only nagging thought keeping his attention focused is the image of Wilford’s face when he talked about the demon. As if Jack’s entity is coming for a reason. 

He presses in too close.  _ Why are you here?  _ Mark asks in a slight panic. The boy hangs back behind the other two as they head towards the car, the sudden rush of adrenaline weighing his body against them both. 

** _You love your friends, don’t you? _ **

_ Yeah, of course, why? What’s going on?  _ Their eyes dart from person to person, searching for danger. 

** _What are you willing to do to protect them?_ **

_ From what? I’m not promising anything to you unless I know what’s going on. _

** _I am not the one you need to worry about tonight. _ **

_ Fuck off with the cryptic statements, Dark. I’m not in the mood. _

** _You’ve welcomed another demon into your house, Mark. _ ** This makes the boy stop short, analyzing his friend. 

_ What, Jack? He’s been here before. He’s fine. _

** _He brought someone with him. Someone like me. _ ** Dark smiles at that, curving his voice around the words. He’s never been able to say that before. 

_ No,  _ Mark scowls.  _ Anti is a bit he did for Halloween. He doesn’t actually exist, Dark. You’re just trying to make me paranoid and turn on him. _

Anti. So that’s what it’s called. An anti-personality. How original. 

** _And if you are wrong? What would you do to protect your friends?_ **

Radio silence as Mark gets in the car, distractedly picking up the banter. His mind is far from made up, but for now Dark gets the cold shoulder. He doesn’t mind. Mark can only cost himself if he’s wrong. 

He smirks each time Mark glances at the others. The peeks are tinged with concern. Mark’s thoughts war with themselves, flitting back and forth between defending his friend and suspecting him. This is Dark’s favorite show to watch. The boy keeps a straight face, laughing along with his companions, but squirms in his seat. It isn’t far-fetched to think Sean could keep Anti from him the way he’s kept Dark from everyone. And if he has, if there is a demon, would Jack be able to keep him under control? What if he can’t? Tyler and Ethan and Kathryn are all coming over after dinner to celebrate before the jet lag catches up. They could be in danger. 

_ You think I’m stupid,  _ Mark scoffs.  _ I know your game. The more afraid I get, the more control you think you get. Well I’m not falling for it, Darkipoo. And even if anything you said was true, which it’s not, Jack’s still my friend. He can handle it.  _

Dark refrains from pointedly seeping into his limbs and taking the wheel. They’ve coexisted by maintaining the boy’s illusion. Wrecking it simply to make a point is rash. And still, the boy only costs himself if he’s wrong. Dark doesn’t care whether the illusion holds up or not; if ‘Anti’ comes out to play, there’s no chance he’s letting him kill Mark. He’s spent far too much time settling into this host to let a young upstart sweep him away. The friends, however, he would easily leave to fend for themselves.

The seed is planted. There’s nothing left for Dark to do until Anti makes a move. He observes the trio as they drop Jack’s things off at the house, then head to meet the others at a restaurant. Once the two boys are surrounded he lets them be, recessing to sleep much to Mark’s relief. He’s attuned to the body’s reactions. If his heart rate spikes, it’ll wake him. 

Wake him it does. 

Hours have passed. The group is now at Mark’s, fooling around with random props, Chica, and Pictionary of all things. He rolls his eyes. Kathryn and Amy are winning by a landslide, no surprise there. Mark and Ethan try but dissolve into immaturity before their competitive nature can outweigh the ‘comedy gold.’ It’s the laughing fits that sped his pulse. However, Dark’s already awake. He wanders in the subconscious, idly playing with Mark’s memories. Perhaps he’ll focus on Kathryn next. The woman has fears somewhere, but to play on them without her knowing, to nudge her gently towards certain madness with a well placed word or knowing look, therein lies the art. 

Time drags on, flying by for Mark. They finish Pictionary, talk endlessly about mundane things, and show each other ideas or memes on their phones. Jack, Ethan, and Mark delve into which games are worth playing on their own versus on the screen, and which setups have worked. The others join in, bringing up editing graphics and processors and platforms. Ethan suggests Tyler’s amazing editing skills, and wouldn’t that be a wonderful before and after? What a redemption arc! Tyler lays the schedule down as a no. More pointless banter fills the room. The sun descends. What shall we do tomorrow? The moon rises. Tonight was really fun! Night envelopes the windows. Dark doesn’t pay much attention. 

He nearly falls asleep again as the friends disperse. The late hour claims Tyler first, who carpooled with Ethan. Then Kathryn follows suit with more editing material from Mark. Amy is the last to leave, kissing him sweetly good night as she heads out. Dark smiles at it. He didn’t need to search for her fears. She told them to Mark willingly, when he thought they were alone. Foolish, adorable humans. 

Now that Jack and Mark are alone, Mark’s thoughts return once again to Dark.  _ I told you,  _ he says, barely containing his pride. Dark is too bored to reply. Jack yawns and heads to the guest room, bidding Mark good night. The boy heads to his own room, shuffling into an old shirt and leftover merch pants before rolling into bed, Chica by his side.  _ I told you.  _

** _It’s not fair, is it?_ **

Mark takes a mental step back.  _ What are you talking about? _

** _You have to bear this burden all alone while your friend makes it look so easy. No one will ever understand this part of you now. _ **

He can feel the tension roll through his limbs, defensive and defenseless.  _ No, that’s...shut up, it isn’t true. I’m way happier that he doesn’t have something like you to deal with. You’re a pain in the ass.  _

** _Only with consent. _ **

Disgust mixes into Mark’s frustration as they lie there, waiting for sleep that isn’t coming. His confidence is shaken once more, not only in his friend but in himself. The fight begins again between suspicion and defense. Did he really think that in a part of his mind? Was he a horrible person? But Anti isn’t even real. Fuck it, he can’t go to sleep. He decides to watch stupid internet videos. Then he remembers that he left his headphones downstairs. Fucking shitty tits. Is it worth the trek into the cold, barren hallways? Yeah, sure, why not. 

He tries not to make any noise so Jack can sleep, taking care in bare feet. The headphones are on the side table in the den. Wait, no. The couch? The coffee table thing. Yeah, under the coffee table thing. And he can see that because the kitchen light is on, spilling into the room. But he didn’t leave any lights on. Unless he did. He probably did. How does he adult? 

His hand is reaching for the light switch when he jumps, voice caught in his throat. Jack’s sitting there on the island, in his pajamas, sipping decaf. He jumps as well, nearly dropping the mug. 

“Fockin’ hell, Mark, what’re you doin’ up?”

Mark breathes, recovering and dropping his hand. “Couldn’t sleep, came down for my headphones. You?”

Jack shrugs, taking another sip. By all accounts, the jet lag should make him feel like it’s the wee hours of the morn, yet here he is. “Tour brain.”

Mark leans against the counter facing him. Weird, for some reason he remembers Jack getting shit amount of sleep on the tour. But then, Jack’s infamous for his lack of sleep. He gestures towards the cup. “And that helps you?”

“Don’t doubt the decaf,” he says, smiling tiredly. 

Mark smiles from reflex, looking down. There’s honestly no smooth way to ask a friend if they have a demon in their head. There’s especially no way to ask when keeping his own a secret. So instead he says good night again and starts to head back, headphones in hand. Then it occurs to him that Sean doesn’t know the dishwasher’s busted and the dishes go in the sink. “Oh, so the thing-” he begins, turning around, but Jack is gone. The stillness creeps him out more than the jumpscare did. His caf sits on the island. 

** _I told you._ **

_ Shut up, maybe I’m just tired- _

He hears something drip on the floor. It’s a tiny sound he wouldn’t have noticed if literally anything else was making noise in the house. Something near the sink, behind the island, is dripping. All of his horror game/FNAF skills bring Mark’s own breathing down to listen, gripping the headphones. The light flickers. He should get out of the house. He should get Chica and go. He should do a lot of things, none of which are obviously correct. 

Drip. Patter. 

** _Let me in. _ **

_ I don’t know what you’ll do. _

** _I won’t let him hurt you._ **

_ I won’t let you hurt him. _

** _That isn’t him._ **

_ You know what I mean. _

** _So do you._ **

Mark inches silently towards the side of the kitchen, out of reach of the island, trying to get a lock on what he’s dealing with. He can see from an angle Jack’s legs, lazily braced against the bottom of the opposite cabinets. His arm and his hands fidget, a knife clearly not from Mark’s block flashing lazily. The shining tip presses against a thumb without drawing blood, fingers running down the blade. Then the metal tilts downwards, reflecting as clearly as a rearview. One eye shines a neon green, the other a backlit blue as if a light bulb had blown. As if Jack’s old injury kept it more human. And they are watching him. Static buzzing pops his ears. ‘Jack’s blue eye winks. A shred of Mark clings to the hope that this is a prank, a punishment a long time coming and somewhere his friends are filming it. Then ‘Jack’ disappears. 

Mark bolts, running break necked towards his room. Chica. He can grab Chica and a weapon and get the fuck out of dodge. 

** _Let. Me. In._ **

_ No, he's got to be in there somewhere, he's fighting it- _

** _You will get us both killed, you idiotic child._ **

Mark has his hand on the doorknob when he's yanked backwards, slamming into a wall. His head whacks into the plaster, the breath knocked out with his sense. He scrambles towards the stairs, sliding on the wooden floor. Giggling fills the hall, bouncing around his skull. Louder and higher pitched than Jack’s, cutting out and lagging. The buzz turns into a metallic whine before peaking, piercing his eardrums and giving out to a ringing silence. A claw on his shoulder shoves him to the floor. 

‘Jack’ grins at him with mismatched eyes, blood dripping from his slit throat onto Mark’s shirt. His ears taper and stretch around gages, his expression harshly lit. The soft, fuzzy human guise is practically gone. His hair, which hasn’t been dyed in a while, is vibrant green again, and he holds a knife to Mark’s throat, pinning him down with a strength he shouldn’t have.

** _I will not ask again. _ **

“Sean, please, it’s me, it’s Mark-”

“He’s not available,” he says, accented voice distorting in excitement. The blade digs in, drawing blood. “I’ll be sure to tell’m you said hi.”

A hand grabs the one around the knife, legs bracing to throw him off. Mark’s mouth smiles back.  **“I didn’t think you were going to show up.”**


	5. Anti

Dark heaves Anti off, wrestling the upstart and the sudden weight of a body all at once. The unexpected control throws him for a moment. Mark had been so resistant until Anti spoke. Blame it on survival instinct, he supposes, that when he was faced with death he’d run inwards shouting Fuck It and leave the problem to Dark. Their limbs fill with supernatural strength, fortified. Anti smacks into the floor beside them, the knife wavering in both their grip. 

“There you are,” Anti spits. Then he glitches, Dark’s body dropping to the floor where he had been. That’s impossible. Even when ‘glitching’ a demon’s energy still remains in the spot, able to be contained. He can’t just...disappear. 

A breath of movement behind him. Dark rolls and the blade’s tip just misses his shoulder, getting to his feet to face the other demon. Anti laughs at the delayed reaction. “What’s wrong?” he leers, striding ever closer. 

“A brash little boy decided to assault me,” Dark replies, calmly raising his palms. He’s settled in now, relishing in the control, in how he’s so embedded that Mark is only a thought in his mind, not even a pulse in his veins. Should they end this in death, Mark won’t remember a thing. 

“You’re weak,” Anti says, continuing to blink in and out of his senses. It occurs to Dark that the new age brought new fears, and perhaps this thing in front of him was an entirely new species. Anti isn’t glitching because he is new and unsteady, he  _ is  _ a virus. Stranger forms had happened. “You deserve to be put down, Dark. You’ve lost your grip on the world, and for what?” He gestures at the house around them. “Some views and pathetic human friends?”

“You understand nothing. Go kill yourself again and come back when you’ve learned your place.”

Anti lunges at him. Dark curls his fingers into his palms, sweeping them to the side. The motion heaves the glitch into the door. He comes back snarling, blade first. Dark twists out of the way, grabbing one wiry arm and spinning him into the railing. Jack may be taller but Mark is stronger, and Dark has experience. He shoves Anti’s wrist onto the metal rail, the blade clattering on the floor downstairs. The virus fights dirty, punching his jaw, stomping his bare foot. Dark curses. He tosses Anti towards the ledge. He disappears again, but this time Dark is ready, already whipping an arm behind him. Anti grabs it, about to break the bone when he’s thrown into a corner. Dark’s arm throbs where it was stressed, and he swears. Fortified or not, this body is still human, and putting Mark in the hospital where boredom would drive everyone in his head insane is the last thing Dark wants to deal with. He wrenches Anti back to him and  _ reaches,  _ releasing Mark and dragging Anti with him.

They tumble into the Upside Down, powers flashing. Surprise, Anti’s aura is green, and he’s even harder to hold onto. They kick apart, glaring at each other, finally in their own shells. Wild energy hums around Anti, pulling pixels from his figure at random before rapidly replacing them and repeating. All semblance of Jack’s squishy humanity is gone, leaving severe features and luminous irises in its place. Instead of Jack’s pajamas, he wears ripped skinny jeans and a black tee. Dark’s eyes drink it all in. It’s been so long since he’s had a challenge in a fight.

Dark shifts back upright, firmly tugging his suit jacket into place. Power caresses his form, weaving through his fingers, coiling at his feet awaiting orders. Seeing Anti, a part of him muses over having to torture something so prettily lethal, for it would be torture, not death, if Dark won. An example has to be made to the others demonstrating the consequences of challenging him. And if that means ripping Anti apart bit by bit with his own knife, so be it. He lingers on Anti’s chest, expanding and contracting as they both catch their breath. He’d start there.

“Afraid to break your human toy?” Anti smirks at him.

“I’d much rather break you after you’ve tried your best.”

The empty Upside Down bursts with thunder as their powers clash, leaping for their throats. Anti had used energy to disappear in the human realm, reducing his ability to do it again. His knife still lies in Mark’s house. Despite fighting without that, he's still a formidable opponent. Dark knocks him to the ground with force that would've shattered Jack’s bones. Anti lags, appearing next to him to swing a hook, leaving a gash on his cheek. It feels like hours pass by, each draining their resources. Palms, claws, shadow, pixel. The fight turns into a brawl. Dark jabs his sides to better reach his face. Anti slashes in defense and scores a line down his arm, ripping his clothes and enraging Dark further. Power lashes around Anti’s waist, ripcording him to the ground. Dark falls on him, striking his nose, his jaw, his mouth. He glitches again, appearing in front of him with a hard, swinging kick. 

Dark’s head swims. The kick laid him flat on his back, his nose bleeding. A weight crushes his chest, sharp fingers digging into his neck. His hands scramble on Anti’s, searching for a weak point. Those damn mismatched eyes are inches from his, bright with fury.

“I like you like this,” Anti seethes. His image overlays itself, peering at him from three different angles. Dark’s answering Fuck You is trapped under his thumb. Anti presses more, arching Dark’s back as he tries to alleviate the pressure, legs bending uselessly. “You're so helpless,” he smiles. “It’s almost too easy.” 

Dark’s vision narrows, spots overtaking the view. Easy. They're both sweating from exertion, Dark struggling for breath. Anti sits too high to be bucked off, rough exhales distorting like a crackling speaker. 

The virus revels in the sight of him, watching every shift and every hateful look Dark throws. “Maybe I should wait a while before killing you,” he continues. “Make your human friends watch me take you apart. Break their fragile little hearts. I bet you’d like that, Dark.” 

Just a little closer, he needs to be a little closer…

Dark glares at him, playing along. Pride has no place in a fight to the death. He stops fighting so hard, diverting his efforts from Anti’s grip. Scattered power thrums in his veins as oxygen runs short. In his peripheral, he sees his own auras flickering out, the red and blue fading. He’ll be unconscious soon. Every moment has to count. 

“Good boy,” Anti grins, voice lilting around the words. He draws closer, gaze locked on Dark’s to watch the changing emotions there. Close enough.

Dark gathers all the power he’d saved up during the exchange, dashing a hand to Anti’s throat and channeling it all through his palm. Anti releases him as his throat burns, screaming. Dark gasps, coughing as air returns to him, doubling over but keeping hold of the other demon. He cauterizes the gash in Anti’s throat, pushing him on his back.

“Your dripping annoyed me,” he says, low and gravelly. Anti flickers, unable to muster enough energy to glitch out of his grip. His nails tear at his arm, his wrist, his sleeve, cutting all to bloody ribbons. Even as Dark’s power stutters and fails, his own blood running over Anti’s neck, he squeezes. A lesson. Anti’s reserves are dry. Dark acts as if he can go all day, drawing back with one final warning squeeze. 

Anti doesn’t cry out when he’s let go. He’s resilient. The thought is attractive. Dark traces his prone form on the ground, the eyes that refuse to shy away, the head that refuses to bow even when his shoulders hunch protectively. How much will it take for him to crack? The image flashes in his mind, Anti remaining spiteful for days and days. The mystery of his breaking point. The allure of wrenching it out of him, pleas for mercy spilling from that sharp tongue. 

For now, they’re both exhausted. Dark won, but has no ability to keep Anti contained here. Anti could fight him again if he gives him time. As delicious as the thought is, he nearly lost. The possibility is not permitted. Both their forms are depleted, needing retreat. So Dark yanks Anti’s chin up, giving no indication of his utter exhaustion. 

“You lost, glitch.” Anti glares at him without speaking. “Crawl back to that fragile vessel of yours. Hide like a bitch in that soft, breakable body while you wait for me to finish you off. Squirm. Run, if you want, I love when they run. And keep looking over your shoulder.” He brushes a thumb over the angry red line on his neck, skimming, lightly scratching the edges. “I promise you, I’ll be there.” And then he  _ shoves,  _ but this time, he shoves Anti back to reality, away from him. 

Mark and Jack are warily patching each other up in the upstairs bathroom. Jack cradles his wrist, apologizing profusely as Mark dismisses the whole thing just as profusely. He has band-aids on the nicks from Anti’s nails and knife, ice on his head from being thrown around. Apparently Sean had felt Anti all night, but hadn’t thought he’d try a sudden takeover. His demon was a constant buzz in his ears, unlike Mark’s shadow. The shadow is so weak Mark doesn’t realize he’s returned until Dark mentally collapses, relying on Mark to keep him conscious. 

_ You’re alive,  _ Mark says, and it’s a strange mix of relief and disappointment.  _ Does that mean Anti- _

** _I plan to tear him apart slowly over the course of a couple weeks once he’s driven mad by his own paranoia._ **

_ Um.  _ Mark watches Jack carefully, straining to see any sign of Anti returning or Jack suffering from Dark’s promises. It’s a minuscule shift in blue eyes, a flicker. The eyes widen and stare at Mark. 

“Holy balls, Mark, how’ve you kept that in your head? He’s hardly there anymore. What did he  _ do _ ?” 

“I don’t think either of us want to know,” he answers quietly, avoiding it. He can sense Dark’s wounds easily enough and guess what had occurred. The strongest part of Dark left, his hunger, roils as an oncoming storm directed at the thing in the boy in front of them. The rest of him lies crumpled, breathing heavily. If Dark could form, he’d have angry bruising around his throat, gashes down his arm and across his cheek, a swollen nose, and death in his eyes. But he can’t, leaning weakly on Mark, eyes closing. 

Mark doesn’t know how to feel about it. Dark is a demon, one of the worst. He never stops cleverly undermining people, toying with their worst fears for amusement. But he had saved Mark and most of his house, and kept his word (mostly) not to hurt Jack. He did pretty well considering Anti attacked first. And Dark is the best defense he has against Anti and others like him. Is it wrong to be grateful for a demon? Is it wrong to brush him off after he saved his life?

Dark doesn’t care, for once, what the boy is feeling about him. He drifts into darkness, tucking into it like a blanket while his blood pools around him. The glitch will break. He can still feel his rapid pulse under his thumb and see mismatched eyes. One day soon, Anti will splinter and unravel under that thumb. His eyes are still so full of fight. Only bone-weary sleep can drag Dark from their image. 


	6. Grace Period

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapters always look longer on Docs than AO3. Maybe I should've combined chapters. Maybe not though, since perspectives changed. Onto the YouTube boys!

There’s something to be said about battle royales between possessing demons. Once it’s over, it takes them time to recover. Mark and Jack spend the days following the fight skirting each other in an effort to avoid more injuries, but it’s unnecessary. Mark can feel the almost drugged sleep Dark’s slipped into. The sluggish breathing and silence from the voice that’s always commenting quietly slows his own thinking down, even with his ADD. He’d worry about it if he didn’t think Dark would recover, but he’s not that lucky and he knows it. Jack, in the meantime, catches up on sleep. Mark finds him sleeping on the couch, the passenger seat during drives, and in a comfy chair. Without the constant noise or scratching from Anti, he finds a lulling quiet. Ethan and Amy make separate comments about it, but they pass in assuming conversations about jet lag. 

It gets to the point where the boys start to hope. Jack goes home at the end of the week, taking Anti with him. Of course the demons could still meet up in the void or whatever, but they wouldn’t be throwing their humans into walls anymore. And he’s happy he won’t injure his friend or get tossed around, but he’s also happy that there will be a lack of large holes in the plaster walls. 

Five days have gone by without activity from either Dark or Anti, a record for the boys. The anxiety from night one has dispersed as they fall into their normal routine. They keep busy with the others and plan out future collabs. They can almost pretend that the possessions never happened. Almost. Sean still massages his wrist and Mark keeps his eyes on all the knives in the vicinity (though they never did find Anti’s). But hey, they’re trying, and they’re actually doing halfway decent. 

Until Dark wakes up.

Mark doesn’t drink anymore, but he remembers hangovers. Dark has never been shitfaced enough to compare this to, yet the splitting headache and lack of coordination makes Mark wonder. 

** _Fucking hell._ **

_ Well good morning to you, beautiful.  _

** _Save the endearments, dove. Has all been well?_ **

He can feel Mark’s surprise at the sincerity. Perceived sincerity. Dark just wants to know if Anti has bounced back enough to be a presence. 

_ Yeah, all’s quiet on the home front.  _

Dark doesn’t even reply, shifting in an amiable gesture of understanding before tucking back in. The egos come back tomorrow. He groans. He never wants to see any of their stupid faces again except to say he was right and they were wrong and they can shove their insubordination up their asses. Though he never did get to spill blood with Mark’s hands this week like he wanted, he won against Anti and that’s what matters. 

Mark struggles with his own ethics. Dark gets strength from him, the physical world. He’d probably benefit from physical things like aspirin and food. How do demons survive anyway? Is there a satanic burger place they go to? Do they sneak out for food and become corporeal long enough to eat it? Or do they live off pure energy? Because if they don’t, Mark owes Dark big time for saving him. He might be able to convince Dark in his weakened state to accept a food favor so Dark doesn’t have to go out, saving Mark from an actual favor later. He can’t, however, let Dark wander around the house for snacks while the others are here, especially Jack. He doesn’t know what any of them would do. He decided to tell them Dark actually exists days ago, sliding it into conversation when possible (and Tyler and Amy already knew from firsthand experience), but he didn’t think Kathryn and Ethan believed it. And their other friends could pop in as well. Yet this weakened state isn’t going to last for much longer. Additionally, Anti might wake up. 

He brings the issue up to Jack when everyone else goes home, two nights before Jack’s departure. Who better to talk to about demons and ethics and such the like thereof? He’s sitting on the island again eating pizza from the box next to him at nine at night. Mark leans against a different counter, Chica at his feet. 

“Dark’s awake. Barely enough to say so, but he is. Was. Earlier, I mean, he kinda dozed off, he’s really out of it, but I thought you should know.”

Jack shrugs, giving him a level gaze over his slice. “Anti’s still focked to shite somewhere. Never had it this quiet. I bet he’ll randomly pop back up sometime like the weirdo he is, but for now it’s...nice.”

“You’re not worried about mine?”

“You controlled yours, didn’t you?” 

Jack is quiet, inspecting the floor. Mark shifts uncomfortably. If he says not really, then he could scare him. If he says yes, then Jack will feel ashamed for not preventing Anti’s outburst. He’s shit at this whole thing. 

“Dark and I have a sort-of agreement going, I guess. Apparently it’s easier to do things when you have permission.”

“Anti just showed up one day like he’d been my roommate for years. It’s more of that sort of thing. He knocks something, I yell at him. I try something and he makes stupid remarks.”

“Do you really want to talk about this?”

“No.”

“Okay, ‘cause like, I have eight different games that are still unopened to attempt and three movies you said you never saw that are absolute  _ classics,  _ and we finally get to chill without someone throwing shit at us.”

“Christ, alright, s’long as there’re no damn healing gnomes or some shite.”

“It was a good strategy!”

“It was a horrible strategy.” He’s got Jack smiling again. Rolling his eyes, Jack slides off the counter with his pizza. At 4 am, they both crash on the couches, Playstation controllers in hand. 


	7. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My least favorite part of the day. Jack's turn! Also we're operating on the assumption Amy stayed at a friend's house overnight because she's smart enough to know when to heed warnings about demons.

Sean wakes up on his last full day in California with a slight headache. Anti has been quiet as a church mouse since the fight, closing their mental door. Not before he saw the damage, though. Split lip, burned throat, plenty of bruises from being tossed around and a limp. Jack almost wanted to give Dark a high five. But a very cautious high five where they never came into contact. He doesn’t want to know what Dark would do to him. 

Today, Anti’s door is partially open. He can sense the demon watching him through it, but not emerging. He must still be hurting. The insistent buzz that always came with Anti’s presence is low and tired. It’ll take a bit for him to recover. 

** _I know I’m the more attractive version of you, Jackie, but searching inwards that intensely makes you look cross-eyed._ **

His voice startles him. Anti had been silent since returning. He thought (he had hoped) his vocal chords were damaged or he lost his voice.  _ Fuck off. I’m making sure you won’t do anything stupid. Again.  _

He feels the eye roll but there’s no further comment. Chase and Marvin walk carefully past the door, heading for Schneeple’s safe room. It’s usually hilarious to watch them all interact, when Anti fits in like a punk teen trying too hard to be edgy and the rest toss easy rapport around whatever crazy shite Jackieboy or Brody are up to. Hell, half the time Anti lets himself laugh along with them instead of at them, even Schneep, and when Jack shows up (“Sup cunts?”) to check in the lot of them are sassing each other’s bullshit. Today, they leave him alone. The doctor stopped in on Glitch Bitch to make sure he hadn’t died, but soon stormed off muttering about attitude. Even the egos don’t want to fucking deal with Anti and the chip on his shoulder.

Jack wakes up fully, looking around. He’s still on the couch, a warm yellow mass sitting by his head. “Hey, little Chica,” he says, reaching up to give her pats. Her tail thumps happily at the rubbing, but she stares at him and whines. He sits up more, dedicating both hands to making her happy. Sleeping on the couch wasn’t the most comfortable thing, so he stretches, several body parts cracking. The remains of his and Mark’s game night lay before him minus their plates. He glances at the other couch, empty. Mark must’ve gotten up and taken those to the kitchen. 

He goes upstairs, Chica whining from lack of attention. Once he’s thrown on fresh clothes and deodorant (and a mostly fresh jacket) he goes for the kitchen. Maybe Mark made food. As soon as he steps off the last stair, Chica is at his feet, crowding him. He rubs behind her ears. “I love you too, doggo,” he says, arching an eyebrow. She only got this excited the first night. He walks into the place where everything always happens, and she doesn’t follow. 

“Mornin’.” he greets. Mark’s at the stove, the smell of eggs and peppers coating the room. It makes his mouth water. The other boy has his back to him. He’s already changed into a rather fitted grey shirt and deep blue jeans. “What d’you have there, Mark?”

“Wrong person,” he says, almost an octave lower than usual. Jack freezes. “But I’ll be certain to inform him you said hello.” Mark glances over his shoulder, the black liner around his eyes making them shades darker. Those eyes roam him over slowly, evaluating with a hint of disgust. 

“But…”

“Eloquent as always, Sean,” Dark says. He turns off the stove and opens a cabinet, retrieving a plate. Dismissing him entirely. His usual grace is diminished by careful, slow, movements. Still recovering, then.

“Why are  _ you  _ out?”

“I thought you were the friendly one,” he comments, glowering halfheartedly as he gathers his omelette, silverware, and orange juice with a familiarity that sends chills down Jack’s spine. “Then again, you did attack us.”

“No I-just answer the question, Dark.” 

“Does your little glitch truly live on you alone? Because I bet he knows where your forks are. And your knives, I’m sure. Mark,” he says the name with the slightest insulting tone, “decided to let me recover for a morning. Unless you have something to say about it?”

Jack peeps inward at Anti’s door. That particular roommate remains on his bed, zoning out while playing idly with his blade. Only the tilt of his head indicates he’s aware of anything at all, listening in. He doesn't know whether to feel relieved or frightened. “You’re not going to attack me, are you?”

Dark rolls his eyes. Jack realizes he’s tired of demons rolling their eyes at him today. “What would be the point in that?”

“How am I supposed to know? You’re a  _ demon. _ ”

Dark pinches the bridge of his nose with two fingers, sighing. “Master plan revealed, now will you kindly stop talking?” With that, Dark leaves. Jack notes curiously that he and Mark both walk around barefoot. 

** _He’s tired._ **

_ Don’t you fuckin’ try anything, mister.  _

** _I’m not going to._ **

Shockingly, Jack believes him. Anti still hasn’t torn his eyes away from his knife, running his fingers over it. They have several tiny chapped cuts on the pads from feeling the edge. And the way he said it… Anti is tired too. He hardly flickers, video noise making pixels purple in places. He’s scheming alright. For now, he lets him be. Pushing Anti is never a good idea, and showing him concern seems like Stockholm Syndrome. 

Jack curses Dark instead. He left him with the smell of food but only made enough for one. 


	8. Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anti gets a chapter. And I know 'sizeless' isn't a word but neither are half the memes in the world so let's yeet the dictionary and use context clues/linguistics.

Everyone needs to shut the fuck up.

Chase is the most annoying, trying to be - surprise - a complete bro about the whole thing. Doc Schneep came in once, poking him until he went off (and what did he expect to happen?) Everyone else is too scared to talk to him.  _ Boo you whores.  _ He lost. He got cocky and he lost to the arrogant prick residing in an idiotic goofball. 

A sharp dressed, sharper witted prick. 

He wanted to draw him out. He’d heard about Dark but everyone knew you didn't talk to him if you valued your life. He had the western nations networked to a fine point; a spider in a web, sensitive to any disturbances...or prey. Authority. Power. Condescension. Every story sent his pixels scattering in annoyance. Was there no one to keep him in check? No one to knock him down a peg?

Anti researched. He jumped into the coded universe of the internet and scanned for data. Fan theories, Mark’s videos, anything would suffice. The more he knew about this douchecanoe, the better. Because Jack was going to visit Mark, Anti could do it himself. He’d remind Dark that the world isn’t his for taking. Already, Anti had begun to situate himself in Europe. There were Eastern demons, sure, and Dark had North America. But the rest of the world still existed, thanks very much. Anti served as a bridge between the two. Being able to transport instantaneously helps out a lot with that kind of occupation, and it keeps him busy enough that he doesn’t go crazy living with Sean. He had a lot of new age demons in his own networks wherever innovation took place (better to appease the glitch than try to erase him). 

Robin caught him a few times. He and Jack had worked together on the issue of Anti’s existence since the fandom first became fixated on him. The editor just cut him out of videos and told him matter-of-factly not to wreck the servers. Not that Anti would do that anyway. He needed  _ somewhere  _ to feel in his element. This  _ was  _ his element. Dark operated in shadows and whispered conversations, old fashioned cloak and dagger. Anti’s playspace extended as far as the internet and other location-connecting programs reached. 

So going in, he knew about Damien and Celine, Wilford and Mark the previous. He knew about Mark the current and the ancient nature of the demon. Mark’s Google ego had uploaded observations which Anti soon deemed the ‘Dark’ web. Dark almost never showed up in any of Mark’s videos, even ones depicting him. Yet he knew he wore formality like armor, and lessers who dealt with him pondered the dark rings around his eyes. He pressed on people’s weak points before they even knew he found them. But he hadn’t done anything to indicate there was a world outside his home continent. Typical American. 

And Anti had still lost, knowing all that. Knowing Dark was just as powerful as he was. Knowing he was tied to Mark. 

_ Anti? _

It’s Sean, hesitant to contact him through the door. He opened it to stop feeling suffocated. His knife was waiting for him when he got back, and he spent that first bloody night staring at it. He wanted to slit his own throat again, just to split the burn mark. Take it back, drip all over the place to annoy the shite out of Dark. Only exhaustion and practicality kept him from raising that blade. He stares at it now, testing how deep he can cut his fingers before they bleed. He’s done it before and knows perfectly well. The stings remind him he’s alive. He tilts his head to listen, not paying much attention. 

“You’re not going to attack me, are you?”

Anti glances out through Jack’s eyes. There’s the asshole, human form, human clothes, human food. Digging in at Anti’s words from that night about going soft on humans without saying a syllable. Dark knows Anti is watching. This is Dark’s favorite game, messing with the two of them at once. Take control and frighten Jack while rubbing salt into Anti’s wounds. Clever. Cruel. 

Yet his reply is bitter and low. Anti shifts on his side to see better, setting the knife down. Dark is in human clothes, yes, but they’re intentional. His liner isn’t as sharp as it could be. His hair could be considered disheveled or messy. And he’s barefoot, pinching the bridge of his nose, dismissing Jack instead of egging him on. Dark is tired. 

_ That bastard. _ He was in just as bad of shape as Anti was, he hid it to pretend he won. 

Anti picks the knife up again, familiarizing himself with the edges, the length, the point. He’s still recovering, the pain in his ribs with every inhale cheekily reminding him of that. But when he gets out…

_ Don’t you fockin’ try anything, mister.  _

** _I’m not going to._ **

Jack believes him. Anti surveys his reflection. Dark wants to play mind games? Fine. Bring it on. Anti is not the impatient, chaotic child Dark thinks he is. If he was honest, Anti’s only a century or two younger. If Dark thought he was going to run scared after being shook up, he had another thing coming.  _ Mind games. _ Anti can play the role assigned to him. A young demon, powerful yet inexperienced, taking refuge in a soft, not unattractive human. Let Dark come closer, come closer. Anti’s knife will still be here. 

Anti only has tonight to operate. Tomorrow afternoon is Jack’s flight home, and he can’t exactly lure Dark in with squishy humanity in the sizeless demon void. He’s figuring out how to convince Jack to let him out when Chase stops by.

“Still breathing?”

He interrupts Anti’s thought process. The knife sticks into the door inches from Brody’s cap. “You're not getting rid of me, Chase.”

Brody isn't fazed. That says more about Anti’s usual behavior than it does Brody’s resolve. “Jackieboy will be disappointed. I just wanna know if I have to duck and cover.”

Anti’s attention is not a routinely desired thing. His concerned tone sends something off balance. “What do you really want, dickweed?”

“Don't kill me,” he says first, holding up his hands. “But I may have been the one designated by the others to tell you taking control was not cool. Like, the least cool thing, dude. What's the deal? We aren't even near Jack’s channel.”

“Do you have any idea what we’re dealing with?” 

Chase shifts, securing his hat. “Yeah, your impulsive decision to piss off the nearest powerful being so you can prove you're better.” Anti’s noise quickens, his form becoming grainy. Chase inches back. That's when he notices his sliced fingers. “Anti…”

“I don't need to be better, but someone needed to tell him he wasn't either.” 

Chase’s arms cross, his gaze evaluating. Anti finally glares at him, irritated. He lets out a long sigh and shakes his head. “Fine. But endangering the rest of us? Still not cool.” 

He turns to leave, Anti watching. “Chase?”

That stops him, surprised but wary. “Yeah?” 

If he’s going to get anywhere, he needs help. Chase is the calm center of the egos, the dad of the group if there was one. His words carry influence. “I’m sorry.” 

That rocks Chase back another step before he stops, pausing. Anti never apologizes to anyone. Then he nods. “Thanks, Anti.” He un-sticks the knife from the door, the gouge blending in with the others, and tosses it at Anti’s feet before slipping back out into the hall. 

He waits before standing up. The movement strains his injuries, constricting his chest. Fuck that, he’s stronger than this. _ Stop being a pissbaby and go cut a bitch.  _ Regardless, he moves carefully, putting on fresh clothes, examining the bruises. Demons heal exponentially faster than humans do, especially when grounded in the physical world. It gives them a basis, a grip. Dark managed to get a day for recovery, but Anti started the fight. Jack’s fairness instinct is sure to be overruled by his cynical logic. 

** _Jack?_ **

His human is texting Gab, munching on something salty.  _ This bullshit again? _

He bites his tongue, rubbing a thumb over the ache in his side.  ** _I’m sorry, okay?_ **

_ No. You’re not going out again. I’m not falling for that shite.  _

His instant reply is almost a petulant whine about how Dark gets to go out.  ** _I promise I’ll stay here and play nice. You know if we were home I’d have been out already._ **

_ If we were at home, I wouldn’t have t’ worry about coming back to myself injured. _

** _Your wrist? _ **

Jack is about to reply when Anti’s form skews and the demon flinches. He always glitches, it’s his nature, but it stretched his side too far. The gentle, human side of Jack - the one that cares too much - pities him. Jack’s wrist may ache, yet in comparison to Anti, it’s an echo. A splinter to a spear.  _ How do I know you won’t start another fight? _

Anti straightens as much as he can, eyes flashing.  ** _I’m not suicidal, asswipe. I’ll leave my knife here if you want. Just give me a few hours. _ ** Then, because it’s Jack and Anti and he knows it’s a long shot, he mumbles another word.  ** _Please._ **


	9. Impulse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't kinkshame me, I love chocolate more than the idea of kissing someone. Snacks are power moves, change my mind.

Having solid shape again is both a rush of freedom and a shackle. Air comes unfiltered through his lungs. The world no longer needs lenses to see clearly. A thought becomes action before the thought becomes words in his head. Yet it’s heavier than he’s used to. Filled with muscle and blood and sinews. Bodily functions that nag his mind and limit his motions. Jack gave him four hours tops, stepping aside to visit the egos while keeping an eye on Anti. Babysitting. 

The first thing he does is make grilled cheese because, even though Jack just ate, Anti hasn’t eaten anything corporeal in at least two weeks. He burns their tongue on it in his rush, sighing in satisfaction. Butter. Cheese. Warmth. So good and real and touchable. Then it’s a buttload of water to wash it down, rinsing his senses awake. He’s been trapped feeling like a dying man too long. Jack can’t focus on it, immersing himself with the other roommates. Feeling guilty. 

It makes Anti laugh, which sends stabbing pain across his ribcage and makes him stop. His human feels guilty for not letting him recover from a fight he started.  _ Perfect. _ Gab texts Jack’s phone, something about when he gets home. Anti sends her all the emojis. It’ll take a while for her phone to recover from data overload. He won’t have to worry about Jack’s desire to reply.

He raids the fridge for sweets. As long as he’s out, he can enjoy it. Jack may care about fitness and health and all that, but one chocolate bar won’t kill him. Or two. He unwraps the first one and as soon as the sweet substance touches his tongue he’s done for. A small moan escapes. How long has it been since he’s had chocolate? Too fucking long. He could marry this chocolate bar. He’s inhaled the first bar and devoured half of the second when he’s interrupted. 

“Enjoying ourselves, are we?”

Anti clutches the chocolate preemptively, turning to face Dark. The older demon leans against the door frame, legs crossed and hands slung low behind his back. A king in his castle. For a brief second, Anti imagines pushing him over. He also imagines those arms pulling him in. Dark’s body is attractive in full color, and he dressed in very well-fitting clothes that distinguish the powerful personality within. 

_ Fuck. _ How long has Anti been cooped up inside Jack’s head, missing the world’s pleasures? Food and fights and fucks? It’s distracting him from the task at hand. He maintains his cool, preventing Jack from being alerted to Dark’s presence.

“Are we?” he replies cheekily. 

Dark’s eyes are taking their time tracing his figure, unreadable. “Evidently, Jack is not as intelligent as Mark hoped he would be.”

“Mark hopes for a lot of stupid shite,” Anti remarks, biting more of the bar. To his shock, Dark’s mouth twitches into the barest smile. 

“How true.” 

The clock ticks. Neither of them move, watching each other. If they hadn’t only recently tried to kill each other, Anti would be confidently advancing towards that wry look and liquid promise of destruction. Instead, he gets comfortable, slinking onto the counter and folding his legs, savoring the delicate flavor. His ribs protest through it all. The other demon notes the act. 

He knows what he sees. Anti’s eyes staring at him, lank condensed in coy angles and wrapped in a worn jacket and blue jeans. He zeroed in on Anti’s side when he showed discomfort. Dark sees demon eyes in human clothes, injured and easy to fight. Demon eyes in human clothes, just like him. Anti has met other demons of his power level, most slightly less so. Something about this American intrigues him like the others hadn’t. So many fantasies of slashing him from his high horse. A press of his thumb made Dark’s back arch under him. A hold on his chin made Anti focus his attention. He has never met someone who could deal it back to him. Deep brown irises lined in black reflect a similar curiosity. 

“You’re awfully stupid stealing from me,” Dark says, breaking the silence. 

Anti keeps his head up. “You’re awfully stupid thinking you’ve power enough to rule the world.”

Dark pushes off from the doorframe, sidling across the kitchen until he’s within reach. It’s akin to watching a panther, smooth muscles coiled for the pounce. “What makes you think that?”

He doesn’t know what he’s asking. Why he thinks Dark isn’t powerful enough, or that Dark is stupid? He casually unfolds, ready to defend himself. “You’re one little predator in a world of apex animals. You think I’m the only one who can survive challenging you? I’m just a hint of what’s out there.” Feeling a rush and particular spitefulness, he adds his name. “ _ Dark. _ ” 

“Don’t press your luck,” Dark growls. “You lived because I allowed it. You’d best be careful in such a dangerous world.” He steps closer, his scent washing over him. Heady fire and a bit of Mark’s delicious mortality. “ _ Anti. _ ”

He smiles, leaning forward. He can see all the flecks of color and dilations of his pupils. “How quaint. You  _ allowed  _ me to live. And why is that? Your human rubbing off on you?” 

Dark punches the cabinet behind him with a loud bang. Anti doesn’t jump. He keeps his arm there, caging him in. Jack turns his head at the noise.  _ Anti, what the OH FOCKING HELL- _

“You’re alive to be an example,” Dark continues sinuously. “I told you to run.”

“Well I'm not runnin’ around for your little game,” he says lowly. 

_ Anti you had one focking job- _

** _Shove it, Sean, I’m keeping my bleedin’ word. I haven't even hit him._ **

“Game?” Something shifts in Dark’s gaze despite the calm in his voice. Anti holds his breath. 

“You want to play like you’re in control. But you’ll never be.” 

Dark hums, snapping off part of his chocolate bar that’s technically Mark’s, therefore Dark’s. “It’s endearing, how firmly you believe that.” 

Every atom of his body wants to sucker punch this asshole for being so damn arrogant. It had been an impulse to come here, an impulse to attack him. Until Dark fought back, telling him to kill himself again, Anti was content to scare and threaten. Assholes who vy for power often back down when they’re truly challenged. Then it all seemed like it was meant to build, like a snowball rolling down a hill until an avalanche grows from it. He doubts they’d both walk away from another impulsive brawl. He doubts it’d be him walking away. 


	10. Tandem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little time overlap, I'm sure you can keep up.

The glitch would not listen. One would think after being beaten and threatened he would shut his mouth. That’d be the smart thing to do after pissing off a demon. A rational thing. Far more rational than taking shots at him while raiding his fridge. 

Dark heard Jack’s quiet shifts in the kitchen turn to desperate thuds, cabinets and fridge doors shutting, water running. Once or twice a muttered profanity spilled from the door. The noises grated on his patience. He was just drifting off to sleep on the couch. Rest was so close, lazing just beyond his grasp, further with each interruption. Could the boy not wait five minutes for food? One would think he-

Dark got up, tucking his hair from his eyes. One would think Jack hadn’t eaten in days. He knew the feeling himself. That’s what makes him rise, padding silently to the kitchen. Anti is out. 

Anti is out, stealing something from the fridge and inhaling it. Dark watches, leaning against the entry with a smirk. There it is. A powerful, spiteful demon reduced to furtive possessions for survival. Dark had caused that. What a wonderful thought.  _ The laughing, chaotic glitch brought low in a solid, grounded form because of me. _ Running inwards, sneaking under his notice so as to not be caught. Anti was the closest thing he’s had to an equal since...oh, decades. Able to look him in the eye and spit. And Dark had turned him to this. Squirming like a mouse under his paw. Hiding scared in his human until Dark looks away.

Letting out a sweet, unexpected moan as he takes chocolate from his fridge. It’s a sound bite used in a favorite song. One that repeats over and over and never gets old. The purloined pleasure of a refugee thinking he’s in a safe haven.

“Enjoying ourselves, are we?”

His words make Anti turn, but not how he wanted. Instead of being afraid or off-guard, Anti glances over his shoulder like he was expecting him, leaning against the fridge with a smug grin. “Are we?” he replies cheekily. 

Dark can’t reply for a moment.  _ How the ever-loving fuck can he still be so goddamn cocky? _ Days ago he had him on the ground, power depleted, body wounded. He shoved Anti back into reality, using everything he had to wipe that stupid smile off his face. Yet those eyes still don’t shy away. Dark looks him over. Anti keeps his weight on his right leg, stays solid (and a part of him revels in finally pinning Anti to one place) but otherwise looks perfectly fine. As if Dark had done nothing at all. 

“Evidently, Jack is not as intelligent as Mark hoped he would be.”

“Mark hopes for a lot of stupid shite,” Anti remarks, taking another bite of the candy. 

It’s only because someone made an inside joke with him that he finds the answer funny. “How true.” It occurs to him that Anti most likely dealt with Jack and Jack’s egos in order to gain permission to be out. He hasn’t read much about them, only the barest information. Egos are different than demons in that they’re human creations. Demons are not, but their forms adapt. Demons therefore exist outside of the human mind, merely taking a coherent shape. Operating within it, however, still wears on one's nerves.

Anti, well enough to barter with egos and an annoying YouTuber after starting fights with powerful entities. Anti is not deterred by violence. In fact, he probably gets a kick out of it. The glitch makes himself comfortable on his counter, sitting poised like a rabid housecat. Ready for whatever Dark throws at him. He doesn’t know what to feel about this development. Anti is strong enough to match him blow for blow. Strong enough to keep up. 

He doesn’t remember the last time someone has been able to do that.

Dark catches himself musing. They’re both out. They’re both too drained to fight as they would in the Upside Down. They both suffer from the same mortal needs. They both (more likely than not) promised not to fight so the boys would let them be. He has to keep the scale tilted in his favor.

“You’re awfully stupid stealing from me,” Dark says. 

Anti keep his head up, unaffected. “You’re awfully stupid thinking you’ve power enough to rule the world.”

A blow to his pride. Another jab at his authority. Didn’t they just fight about this? Dark restrains himself from storming over, keeping his gait steady. “What makes you think that?”

Anti casually unfolds those long limbs, eyes gleaming. “You’re one little predator in a world of apex animals. You think I’m the only one who can survive challenging you? I’m just a hint of what’s out there.  _ Dark. _ ” 

Not only smart-mouthing him, but threatening as well. “Don’t press your luck,” Dark growls. “You lived because I allowed it. You’d best be careful in such a dangerous world.” He steps closer. Anti’s scent is sharp, like an open battery or a copper wire. But it’s softened by Jack. Akin to running electricity through your tongue. Everything about him screams  _ come here, I’m ready.  _ “ _ Anti. _ ”

He leans forward, getting into Dark’s space with that infernal smile. “How quaint. You  _ allowed  _ me to live. And why is that? Your human rubbing off on ya?” 

Dark punches the cabinet behind him with a loud bang. Anti doesn’t jump. Dark doesn’t back down, trapping the glitch. He hasn’t lost composure like this in an argument in...he can’t remember. It’s infuriating and alluring. Either one draws Dark to him like a magnet. “You’re alive to be an example,” he says, voice pitching low. “I told you to run.”

“Well I'm not runnin’ around for your little game,” Anti states, staring him down. Green and blue, unwavering. That spiteful grin that never fades. Roughed up, but not damaged, not broken, not yet. Violence couldn’t keep him down. He throws words back at Dark as if they’re shooting the shit. He’s resilient, but not invulnerable.

At last, someone to play with.

“Game?” 

The younger demon is inches from him, his mouth a defiant curve, his tone low and wicked. “You want to play like you’re in control. But you’ll never be.” 

Oh, but he had been. There in the Upside Down, he noted every little thing Anti had done. Making him arch, drinking in any change in Dark’s eyes, claiming dominance when he had the upper hand. Then never flinching when Dark turned it all around. Even now, encased in smooth skin, thrumming heartbeat, denim and soft cotton, Anti waits like a knife, shining and lethal. A promise of pain, but to break him? He wants Anti  _ unraveled.  _

Dark has had a few bedmates. He knows where to touch to melt someone’s rationality, where to kiss and when to pull away to make them reach for him. He knows that humans and demons respond most intensely when either being hunted or fucked. It’s getting to that point that’s always provided the challenge. No one has ever made him frame either of those as allowance. No one was ever strong enough to pose them as questions. He took what he wanted. He never had to consider whether the other person  _ let  _ him.

Nor has he had someone hate him so much they were unaffected - no, made more spiteful - by intimidation. 

“It’s endearing, how firmly you believe that.” With that calm statement, he takes back some of his candy because fuck Anti, this is  _ his  _ home and  _ his  _ food. The glitch makes a face, and if looks could kill he’d be dead several times over. Dark raises a brow. “Did you want something?”

“I want you gasping for mercy at my feet.”

“I’ll give you two weeks to recover from your last defeat.” He takes a breath to clear his head. The longer he stays this close to Anti, the more he loses rationality. Dark pulls away. Somehow, they’d gotten nearly nose-to-nose in their banter. “Feel free to try challenging me again when you’ve got half a chance.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where I always read other people's fantastic works that somehow made enemies into lovers. I tried to set it up so it'd be feasible they'd have met up between this part and part 2. Listen, I've got too much life going on rn to connect the dots (I haven't connected shit). I've had these parts for over a year, and if I didn't post them now, I never would. It's always better to post it than worry about perfectionism.


End file.
